18. The Victor’s Prize

The Victor's Prize

Ecker

The scent of blood fills my nostrils. It only fuels this fire raging inside me. An aggression-triggered rut creates a bloodlust so potent, it makes me want to throw down the weapons I've won so I can tear these people apart with my bare hands.

Every splash of blood against my skin sends an energizing rush through my body. Even more so when it's combined with the scent of my omega.

It's hard to track where I am on the arena floor with constant attacks and retaliation. My immediate vision and context are narrowed to my current victim and the next threat. But I always know when I am near the omegas' balcony. Her bright amber and neroli scent cuts through the thick, coppery tang of blood like a flare in the night.

Every time I scent her, a growl reverberates in my chest and my skin tingles. I slaughter whoever is unlucky enough to be near me. Because for the moment that she's in my lungs, the alpha in me doesn't see them as a threat to my life, but a threat between her and me.

And anything standing between my omega and me must be obliterated.

But once I'm across the arena again and her scent clears, the fury over what she did rekindles to a wildfire. She risked all of our lives with her petty tantrum.

If there's one thing I can't forgive, it's putting my brothers in danger.

It's probably been ten minutes since the games began and our opponents' numbers have dwindled significantly. Not that they ever stood a chance. It's a rigged system, and everyone knows it.

The games occur once or twice a decade, whenever there are Trials. In between that time, anyone that crosses the Echelon—and isn't immediately killed—is imprisoned until the next game. So, not only are they weak and malnourished from being held captive, but most are undesignated. Even at their best, they wouldn't stand a chance against a noble alpha.

It's a bloodbath, but it brings in a shit ton of money—people can even pay to have their enemy kidnapped for the arena. The games serve as a chance for Trial alphas to prove their strength and courage, but they also loom as a constant threat to maintain the Echelon's power and control.

Now that we're even in number and I'm no longer fending off one attack after another, I'm able to look around for my brothers. I spot Bishop about twenty yards away.

He's defending himself from two prisoners, one with a sword and another with a thick length of chain. He's much slower than he should be and getting quickly winded.

No wonder, I think as I sprint toward him. He's been puking his guts up all day, essentially fighting on an empty stomach and sick.

No, not sick. Poisoned.

The thought alone makes my body shake with rage. Especially when Bishop's too slow to dodge a swing of the chain.

It wraps around his neck. The prisoner grabs either end from behind, trying to wrangle a choking but thrashing Bishop into position for his sword-wielding partner.

I've never felt this kind of terror before.

Bishop's face reddens, and his veins pop on his neck and forehead. The man with the sword flexes his fingers and tightens his grip, both hands wrapped around the sword hilt. Bishop's eyes, flickering back from gold to hazel as he suffocates, meet mine as the man brings the sword back for a heavy swing.

I get there, but not fast enough.

The sharp blade makes contact with Bishop's side right before I snap the man's neck.

I know he's on the verge of blacking out when his eyelids flutter, and with the new gash, he crumbles. The roar I unleash as his knees hit the sand is inhuman, beast-like. My heart shatters, splinters burying themselves in my lungs as I struggle to breathe.

I call Titus's name. I don't know where he is, but I know he will come.

Everything turns red and the next thing I know, I'm choking the prisoner with his own chain as Titus impales him with a spear.

Titus, even though he's a few feet away, shouts to be heard over the sounds of fighting. "Take this."

He begins unwrapping the cloth bandages around his torso. "You need that!"

"No, he does." His tone is definitive and sure.

All it takes is one glance at Bishop, blood seeping through his fingers as he tries to put pressure on his wound to stop any further protest.

Unwinding half the material, he tears it in two, handing me one half while tucking in the loose end.

Falling to Bishop's side, I get a quick look at the cut before pressing hard with the fabric. It's deep, slicing through muscle and almost a foot long. There's a lot of blood so it's hard to tell, but I don't think anything under the muscle was pierced.

He groans as I roll him slightly onto his uninjured side to apply more pressure. Titus fights above us, killing anyone who gets close so I can focus on Bishop.

"You're gonna be alright, brother—it's barely a scratch."

He rolls his eyes, his low chuckle barely more than a croak. "Hell of a scratch."

His rough, strangled voice twists like a dagger in my back.

"She's going to pay for this, Bish," I promise. "She's going to pay."

My mind is a conflicted mess. It's hard to keep the flame of hate burning when I'm this close to her. We are lined up in front of the omegas' balcony after the coup de grace and the injured alphas—including Bishop—were taken to medical.

Sinclair stands with the other omegas for the results of the games. Hands clasped in front of her, she keeps her chin high and steady, but there's something I'm not used to seeing in her eyes as they ghost over Titus and me.

She's scared. Scared of us.

As she should be.

I can't look at her without seeing the big patch of sand painted red after medics took Bishop away. He was alive, but every second ticks by like a tightening noose without knowing if he'll make it.

But at the same time as I want to punish her, I want to fuck her. I want to bury myself deep inside her until the image of her cunt taking my cock replaces images of blood-soaked sand. I want to leave bruises on her skin the way losing Bishop will leave bruises on my soul.

The rut still courses through my body, making me want to tear her apart and put her back together all the same.

A male servant comes running out from the tunnel they took the injured through. Two omegas see him then look at each other, grief-stricken. They reach for each other's hands as he whispers to the Elder serving as the announcer.

After saying his piece, the servant hurries back to the tunnel and the arena falls deathly quiet. Everyone seems to hold a collective breath except Titus and me. I look at him and he gives a subtle shake of his head. He doesn't know what's going on either.

The Elder must be mic'd because when he speaks, it's loud enough for even people in the back row to hear.

"I've received unfortunate news from the infirmary." My heart stutters as I finally understand everyone's trepidation. "Miles Cobalt has succumbed to his injuries."

A piercing wail cuts through the air as one of the omegas holding hands collapses to her knees.

My heart starts beating again when I hear it's not Bishop. Titus's exhale is audible as he squeezes my shoulder. Unconsciously, my eyes find Sinclair and I see her clutch her stomach in relief.

I'm weirdly comforted seeing that she's relieved.

But not nearly enough to alleviate my burn for retribution.

There's an odd juxtaposition as we take a moment of silence for the fallen alpha, all the while servants haphazardly lugging dead prisoners away, stacking their limp bodies in wheelbarrows.

The Echelon's view on whose lives hold value and whose don't couldn't be more blatant.

After the moment of silence, the Elder announces the final "score."

"Beryll alphas, Griffin, Noah, and Maverick: ten slain." To applause, the three alphas step up to the balcony. Their omega leans over the banister as, one by one, they reach up to meet her with a celebratory kiss.

Titus groans beside me. "Fuck this."

And so it goes, each family's score announced then followed by the pack receiving their omega's kiss. When I hear our name, my chest pounds, not only anxious to hear how we stacked up against the others but to get closer to Sinclair.

"Cerulean alphas, Titus, Bishop, and Ecker: twelve slain."

She moves to the edge of the balcony, and as Titus and I trudge over obligatorily, I genuinely think I might strangle her.

I focus on Bishop's unjust absence as her scent grows stronger so I don't forget what's important. Her sweet, citrusy scent makes my cock thicken and it's harder and harder to remember why my fingers itch to wrap around her throat—to fuck her? To hurt her?

My mind is cloudy and lust-hazed as she bends over to meet Titus. A spike of jealousy flares in my chest as their mouths inch closer. I blink, trying to clear the feeling. Only succeeding when Titus's harsh whisper pulls me back to reality. His lips flutter so close, no one in the crowd would know they aren't actually touching.

"I'd slit my own throat before I'd ever kiss you, Omega."

Titus cracks his neck and puffs his chest. He hums with aggression as we move through the tunnels, following the bear emblems. His hulking shadow from the torchlight looks like a prowling monster.

"You'll stop me from going too far, yeah?" he asks flatly, but I can hear the rare hint of fear in his voice.

"What's too far?"

He stops one turn away from the cove. "Don't let me kill her." His nostrils flare and his jaw ticks, golden eyes staring straight ahead. I nod—though if he gets that far gone, I don't know if even I would be able to stop him.1

Sinclair is standing in the center of the room, her white hair glowing like flames from the candles behind her. Her hands at her sides twitch when we walk in like, she wants to clasp them together but stops herself.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to run," I say, tilting my head as Titus stalks around her to the other side of the stone altar. She tracks him in her periphery with a stiff spine.

"You'd catch me," she says with a stoic matter-of-factness.

Something about it angers me. Maybe it's just the rut. Or maybe it's her acceptance that chafes my sense of justice.

Bishop almost died tonight. We only learned he'll pull through after all the results were announced. She doesn't get to face the consequences with a brave face.

I want her fear, her tears. I want her to pay.

"I'm still standing, which means you better start praying, Omega." Titus's threat rolls off his tongue like the smooth leather of a belt.

She picks up one of the dangling cuffs and fits it around her wrist before closing it. She holds her fist up to show it off. "Do your worst."

His forehead frets in a scowl as he closes the distance between them. Offended, he snarls in her face. "You think we can't break you?"

She inches her head back but stands her ground. And again, her stubbornness has me all twisted up.

Part of me admires her strength, but another, much bigger part wants to force her into submission.

I move behind her. She shivers when I brush her hair to the side, exposing her neck. "You're an omega. You were made to be broken." My fingers trail over her scar. "And we were made to break."

I watch as goose bumps run down her arms and smile. Just like her pussy will always give her away her lust, her body gives away her fear and it's so. Fucking. Sweet.

It refuels my dwindling rut and makes my chest expand with fire. "It's up to you how much it will hurt." I emphasize my words by kicking the back of her knees so they buckle.

"Give me that hand." Titus flicks his chin at her cuffed wrist. She seems hesitant as she places it in his open palm. He unshackles her then orders, "Dress. Off."

She sits up off her heels but remains kneeling to pull the slip over her head. Once she's sitting there in nothing but thin white panties, he reinstates the shackle.

A rough, gravelly sound rolls in my chest as my eyes take in her bare back and imagine marring the perfect canvas with my nails, teeth, maybe carving my name.

Titus bends down to meet her eye to eye and roughly squishes her cheeks with one hand. "Try to bite either of us and I'll make your back look worse than mine."

When she doesn't come back with an immediate retort, I move next to him so I can see her. Sure enough, all the venom that I'd expected in her words is written on her face. The vitriol behind the flecks of gold beginning to color her eyes stirs my bloodlust.

The alpha urge to dominate, conquer.

It makes it easy to take my hard cock out of my waistband. I tilt her chin toward me when Titus lets go of her cheeks. My hand wraps around my shaft while I meet her eyes. I stroke my cock slowly and though our gazes are locked, I know she can still see it in her periphery. She bites her lip and the amount of gold in her eyes doubles.

A heady combination of musk mixed with her regular scent has my hips punching forward with a groan.

Knowing I'm smelling her arousal, I ask mockingly, "You can't help it, can you? Like when you came all over Bishop's cock watching us fuck our fists."

Just like that night in her bathroom, Titus strokes himself next to me.

"You wanna come like that again?" I flick my chin in a dare. "Go ahead, touch yourself."

Her lip tugs in a sneer and she glares, repeating Titus's earlier words. "I'd rather slit my own throat."

"Ah, but you didn't hear the rest of my terms." Letting go of my cock, I fist the back of her head and yank it back until her jaw falls open, angling her face toward Titus.

Titus releases a rumbling groan and pitches forward to push the head of his cock against her parted lips. The sight of his thick red tip nudging against her sweet pink lips is almost too much to handle.

My rut surges like a wave and I fight to get out my terms. "This is your chance to show us you know you're place. You can touch yourself, but only when you're giving us what we need."

"Do what you want to me, but you can't make me enjoy it."

"You sure about that?" I chuckle darkly at the challenge. "Feed her your cock, Ti."

I release the grip in her hair. Titus's forearm flexes as he strokes his length while his other hand taps her cheek for her to reopen her mouth.

"Remember what I said about biting," he says low and rough, then groans as he slides between her lips. "Fuuck . . ."

His hips find a slow, rocking rhythm, and I crouch down next to her. Facing her side, I brush her hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. She eyes me wearily.

I nudge my nose against her jaw and inhale audibly. "You smell so fucking good being used . . . I think it's your fear." I muse, dragging my nose up her cheek, feeling Titus thrust in and out.

"He's holding back, you know." I hum in her ear. "But I think you like it rough, don't you?" My hand cups her breast, tugs on her nipple, and she moans sharply. I chuckle. "That's what I thought."

"Keep making her moan like that," he says through gritted teeth.

My years escorting have given me better control during my ruts than my brothers. If it weren't for that, I wouldn't be able to slip my fingers into her panties without losing my shit.

Instead, I can draw out this slow, teasing torture.

My fingers slide between her folds, finding her just as soaked as expected, and my cock throbs. I can't help but wrap my fist around it while my other hand glides over and around her swollen clit.

"Fuck yeah," Titus growls as she moans desperately around his dick pounding the back of her throat.

My jaw grinds together as I continue to explore her silky, wet heat. She's so slippery, it makes me want to throw her on her back and thrust my cock over her pussy, dragging against her slick clit until pleasure consumes us both.

Lost in the visceral fantasy, I don't realize I've pushed two fingers into her pussy until I hear Titus curse above me. "Goddamn liar—look at you riding his fingers."

He fucks her face harder, making her choke. Each time she gags, I feel her pussy clench around my fingers. "Your pussy loves when he makes you struggle to take it," I drawl.

Her muffled noises turn desperate and her abs squeeze. Her scent changes, and not in a way I could ever describe, but I know it means she's close to her climax.

I abruptly rip my hand out of her panties and stand. Titus pulls out of her mouth, and the sound she makes is both plaintive and laden with relief. He moves aside and I step in front of her.

My dick juts out like a steel rod. My balls are heavy, and the rut is making my thoughts a repetitive loop of: Fuck. Thrust. Break. Punish.

I drag my fingers, wet with her slick, over my cock. It glistens along with the pre-cum at my tip. Fuck, I can't wait to see it sloppy with her spit. But first . . .

"Taste yourself," I order. I avoid tilting my hips forward so that she has to lean in.

Her tongue tentatively flicks out. My body hums like kinetic energy is buzzing along my skin and reaching out to her. My stomach tightens as her hot tongue licks the underside of my shaft. The light contact has every cell in my body coming alive, and I can't control it anymore.

I give into the rut. Fully and completely.

As I punch into her perfect fucking mouth suddenly, her eyes widen in surprise. She tries to pull back, but my hands are there, twisting in her hair and holding her still so I can thrust deep and hard.

Her eyes water and I drink it in. "Cry if you want, Omega. But I won't stop until I get what I want."

She whimpers and the sound is a corkscrew in my chest. I hesitate.

"Fight it," Titus says roughly beside me. "It's your alpha nature tricking you. Don't let it stop you from giving her what she deserves." I'd almost forgotten this isn't about pleasure. It's about punishment.

I breathe in deeply, scrunching my nose and clenching my fist in her hair, and alpha growl, "Finger that needy omega cunt. But only when there's a cock in this pretty little mouth. Don't you dare pleasure yourself without pleasuring your alphas."

The crease between her eyes deepens as she looks up at me with a wounded expression. Her fingers dig into her thigh as she tries to resist the command.

I slow my movements and gently wipe the tears at the corner of her eye with my thumb. I don a small smile and soften my eyes to whisper tenderly, "Obey or I won't let you breathe until you make me cum and swallow every last drop."

To show just how serious I am, I lightly pinch her nostrils closed and push my cock to the back of her throat. She mumbles something undecipherable and begrudgingly shoves her hand into her panties.

I let go of her nose and pick back up my pace. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

She glares back, but I don't let myself care as long as she continues to tease herself. Every moan she fails to hold back creates exquisite vibrations that make pleasure zip all the way to my balls. But as good as it feels, I'm not done playing with her.

I pull my cock out and her hand instantly stops moving. Amazing . . .

I test the strength of my alpha command by sliding in and out, sometimes withdrawing fully. It's wickedly satisfying every time I do and the hand rubbing her clit freezes and she huffs, increasingly frustrated.

I do it again and she groans, piqued. "This little power trip is embarrassing."

Before I can respond, Titus has cupped her head and shoved his dick in her mouth. "I like it better when you don't talk."

We pass her back and forth like this until she's gasping for air and spit is dripping down her chin. Tears stream down her cheeks.

God, she makes a beautiful fuck toy.

If she survives this, I will consider her debt being paid.

Her impending orgasm perfumes the air, making both Titus and me growl hungrily. Suddenly, he picks her up, his muscles rippling and eyes glowing.

"No, no!" she screams and starts kicking as he lays her on the altar on her back. "You don't have to do this—"

"And you didn't have to poison Bishop," he snarls and quickly cuffs her other hand then her ankles. She fights to close her legs as he picks up her hips and tugs her ass to the edge, but he steps between them. His wide frame holds them open. His voice shakes with anger. "Or get me whipped hours before the biggest fight of our lives."

"I didn't know that was going to happen," she shouts. "And maybe if you weren't too chicken shit to stand up for me, it wouldn't have happened."

Her accusation galls me, as if we somehow forced her to graffiti the Cyans' wing. "We don't owe you. We own you."

Titus's blazing gaze moves down her body like a starving beast. When he speaks, it's hollow and gruff, filled with nothing but the rut that's consumed him.

"You're not coming until one of us is buried deep inside this cunt." He slaps her pussy, and she yelps. "So there's no doubt"—slap—"exactly who"—slap—"this omega pussy"—slap—"belongs to."

On the last slap, her back arches and her scream is one of biting pleasure. "Fucking—hate—you," she says between gasps with gritted teeth.

"Feeling's mutual." He growls then roughly punches into her.2 I can hear his balls smack against her ass as he buries himself to the hilt. Her arms thrash in the chains until he impales her with another deep thrust, making her back bow.

"Fuck," she spits angrily.

I circle around to her head, which is just barely resting on the other edge. Despite the wild and brilliant gold, there's still searing hatred in her eyes.

I smile coldly in return and tip her head farther back. "Chin up, beautiful. We're just getting started."

1. Play "Dark Side" by Bishop Briggs

2. Play "ghost in a shell" by Savage Ga$p, KAMAARA, SXMPRA and continue in next chapter.